


Prowler

by HissHex



Series: NaNoWriMo 2020 - A TMA Collection [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: M/M, This is not what I meant to write for this, Very background Georgie/Melanie, but The Not!Tea possessed me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:04:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27330124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HissHex/pseuds/HissHex
Summary: It was made to cause fear and terror, to destroy what comfort the people of this land managed to scrape from the ashes of the old world.It would rather curl up with the nice human who it was hitching a ride with, but it was sure It would get around to all the causing terror stuff as soon as it crawled out of the backpack It had slithered into.A look into the life of the Not!Tea as it watches Jon and Martin make their way through the apocalypse.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Series: NaNoWriMo 2020 - A TMA Collection [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995427
Comments: 16
Kudos: 81





	1. Prowler

**Author's Note:**

> First day of NaNo and it is going well!  
> Originally this whole fic was going to be about the Admiral hunting down the Not!Tea (I might write a short little thing about that later), but this all got away from me quite quickly. 
> 
> Hope you like it and buckle in for a lot of random TMA fics this month.

It had no name.   
  
It had no real form of its own, other than that It stole from others.   
  
There were many others of Its kind, but It was the smallest, the weakest.   
  
But It, unlike Its more dangerous and horrifying siblings, haunted the home of the Archive. It was successful too, had yet to be killed, unlike Its sibling that had stolen the Archivist’s friend. It had been watching from the backpack of the Archive’s Love as the-being-that-was-not-Sasha-James was ripped apart. A shame, but It would not shed any tears even if It could.   
  
The others may be bigger, they may be stronger but It had survived in the Archive’s presence longer than any other horror that they had come across. And yes, much of Its survival had depended on staying safely tucked away in the backpack that the Archive’s Love was lugging around. The Stranger, that which created it and fed it and fed off it, was not happy about Its choice to stay with The Archive and his Love. It’s patron tugged at It to terrify and to torture the wandering pair, but it was reluctant to hurt or leave its protectors.  
  
When bullets whistled overhead and the thick stench of infection choked the air It had stayed carefully curled at the bottom of the bag, hoping beyond measure that the heavy fabric and the body of the Archive’s Love would keep It safe. When It heard the beautiful music of the Carousel It had reached up out with leg and claw and tentacle to return to Its rightful home amongst Its own kind, to witness the carnage of the Stranger and of the glorious chaos. But as It peeked out of the bag, it could not bring Itself to do anything but to observe the death of Its sibling.   
  
When the air became quiet and cold and dark tendrils of endless death covered the land, It clung close to the warmth of the soft, human body on the other side of the bag in the same scared way It did to _escape_ the scorching heat of the fire and flame and screams of the Desolation.   
  
It had felt something that almost tasted like fear when It and The Archive’s Love became separated from the Archive in a land that felt cold like death but without the peace of an end to the pain of it. It heard the Archive’s Love struggle and forget. It feared being stuck in this land of fog and dull furniture. It had coiled and crawled out of the bag to curl around the neck of The Archive’s Love. No. Martin. The Archive’s Love was Martin and love meant nothing in this place. It had never been so glad to see the worry-etched face of the Archive as he saw his love. It was a little proud of its carrier for finding his own way out of the Lonely Domain.   
  
It had cowered when the shadow of Fairchild’s pet stretched out over them, unsure that the Archive’s power could help if they got squished. Though it guessed It had nothing to fear, as a creature with no real body it could just flatten and shift to survive. Martin wouldn’t survive the crush though. It didn’t know why that thought weighed so heavily on It.   
  
It was curious when Martin sat down on an unpleasantly damp couch, a hesitant tendril reaching out of the backpack to prod at the damp, and yet somehow sticky, fabric and quickly retreating back into the bag at the sheer revulsion that It didn’t even know it was capable of feeling.   
  
It was also curious about the unexpected and almost uncontrolled rage that flooded its tiny squishy body. It’s chitinous exoskeleton rippling into spikes into fur into scales as it felt the warmth of the Hunter behind Martin. It was lucky that the Hunter was dealt with quickly, as It would have been discovered if It had followed Its plan to wrap itself around the Hunter’s head and not let go until the threat to It’s Martin was dispatched. It skittered out of the bag when they took a stop for the Archive to recount his statement. It waited for Martin to sit and close his eyes for a brief moment, sliding It’s way to prod at the thin red slice across Martin’s throat, the same bubbling anger from earlier causing It to struggle to retain any kind of solid form for more than a couple of seconds. It would not let this happen again.   
  
The hospital was fine, It guessed, and the Factory of the Flesh was a little boring for It. Not the right sort of fear at all. When the Archive’s Hunter attacked, It prepared to defend It’s Martin, but it wasn’t needed in the end, the snarling attacker ripping into the Archive instead. Foolish creature, going for the closest thing this world had to a god.   
  
It hadn’t realised the danger It was in as they stepped into the house. The many servants of the Web crawling all over the place. It would be spotted, It would be taken from It’s Martin and from the Archive who kept it so safe. It curled up inside an empty bottle that resided in the bottom of the bag, hoping that nothing would sense It, that nothing would call attention to Its existence and It didn’t know which was more relieved, It or the Archive when they eventually left.  
  
Blood and Fog and Silence and Screams. Each Domain a new terror, a new danger.   
  
The Panopticon. The Tower that watched over it all. It didn’t dare peak out of the bag, nothing could stay hidden in the Temple of the Eye. It heard anger and fear and pain.   
  
It felt the world and its tormentors shudder. A cry. The constant flood of pain and fear of the Archive’s Domain dwindled and dried up. The world righting itself.   
  
It is sure that It only survived by being in the centre of the storm. Many Avatars and creatures survived the death of the Watcher and the blinding of the Archive, but only those powerful enough to live through the initial sensation of their Patrons’ being torn back through the door that the Archive had opened.   
  
  
  


T he world after was odd to It. It had been born in the Cabin, It had never known the world before. It was curious. Too curious for a creature of the Stranger. But perhaps not too curious for a creature that belonged to the Archive and his love. Martin had discovered It not long after the fears had been banished. He had been clearing out the backpack that he had carried around his tour of the fear-torn lands  when his hand plunged directly into It, the hard edge of a fang scraping against his hand.  A brief shriek before It reached out too sooth the vague hurt.   
  
It turns out It needn’t have been so scared of the Archive’s discovery, he had know n It was there all along, feeding on Its fear of being seen.  It curled between Martin’s fingers and skittered up his arm, legs tapping along the soft fabric. Martin shied away from Its eldritch ever-changing form but couldn’t help but smile as It rested underneath his chin.   
So It became Tea, a name that had caused several hours of muffled, affectionate squabbling, apparently, the Archive thought it was boring, Martin thought it was cute.   
  
It refused to respond to any of the Archive’s other naming attempts to Martin’s smug approval.   
  
Tea found so much to see, to know in this new world, that it only occasionally noticed the lack of fear that it was so used to and eventually it settled down into this soft domesticity. It was fond of this new life.   
  
Tea purred, a sound closer to a dying car engine than that of any animal. It jumped down from Martin’s shoulder, a soft splatter as it hit the floor, the click and clack of legs and claws as it scuttled across the floor of the flat Martin and his Archive were visiting.  A lady as blind as the Archive nudged it with her foot as it gently prodded at her bare ankle. It started to slink over to the lady that tasted of Death when it heard a quiet rumble from the doorway. It had no eyes or did it have too many eyes? It was hard to tell but if it did have eyes they would have widened in fear at the ball of fluff and claws and protective, playful mischief that stared at Tea from the entrance. 

It hissed a warning. 

The cat hissed back.   
  
Sharp words from above, but it mattered not. The feline pounced at the space where Tea had been, the creature that was and was not Tea skittering and scrambling and dragging itself across the kitchen floor, squeaking in panic. A sticky tendril flung itself up to grab a drawer handle and desperately crawl up onto the counter. It peered down at this terrifying predator. The cat looked up, tail waving in a playful tease.   
  
Tea bristled, scales and spikes and fur rustling as it prepared for the next wave of attacks. It leapt down onto the mighty predator, a tendril grabbing its tail for balance. The cat rolled over, purring as it pinned Tea under its weight.   
  
A mouth full of fangs opened in a terrifying yawn.   
  
Tea was unsure who was more uncomfortable as the cat licked across it. It had to deal with the rough tongue of the cat but the cat had clearly never dried to lick something that shifted texture every few seconds.   
  
This did not stop the cat from attempting to groom the unnatural terror that it held underneath its furry bulk.   
  
Tea relaxed, its fun over as it enjoyed the soft warmth of its friend as its people chatted away.   
  
This may not be what it was made for, but Tea thought that perhaps this was better.


	2. A New Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Admiral meets Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody who has read my fic “Statements and Cigarettes” may recognise some of the names the Admiral uses for people from chapter 5   
> Name Key  
> Jon - Warm-And-Quiet / Warm-And-Quiet-And-Static-And-Fear  
> Georgie - Mine  
> Melanie - Blood-And-Metal-And-Anger  
> Martin - Wool-And-Tea / Wool-And-Fog

Warm-And-Quiet-And-Static-And-Fear was back. The Admiral purred as loudly as he could to welcome him “home”, even if his actual home with Mine was long gone. He purred in welcome, he purred in joy and he purred to desperately drown out the static that had grown and grown in Warm-And-Quiet’s absence.

  
There was someone new with Warm-And-Quiet, well, new-ish. The Admiral had vague recollections of Warm-And-Quiet briefly introducing him to the large man who smelled of wool and tea in the building where no matter where the Admiral hid, he could not escape the feeling of being watched. Even Wool-And-Tea was different now, cold and sad in the way the Admiral had felt when Warm-And-Quiet had left.

  
And the tea was gone now, the end of the world would do that.

  
Wool-And-Fog seemed happy enough despite the loneliness that had scarred him so deeply, he was chatting away to Metal-And-Blood-And-Anger, his fingers’ entwined with Warm-And-Quiet’s.   
  
The Admiral brushed up against the legs’ of the humans (or at least human-looking) that sat around a battered table that Mine had found in their current home.

  
  


He settled down, keeping watch. This new world was dangerous, painful and scary and loud. He had to keep his people safe. His senses had grown ever more sensitive and Mine had commented that he had grown bigger, all the better to hunt down the creatures that roamed the ruined city.

He didn’t notice it at first, a mere flicker in the corner of his eye. A sharp tendril that shifted shape and colour as the Admiral watched it climb out of the pack Wool-And-Fog had settled by his feet. His fur bristled and he stopped purring. He stood back up, tail waving in excitement at the Hunt as he prepared to pounce.

The intruder went very still. A deep red insectoid limb scratching the wood of Wool-And-Fog’s chair. Admiral was sure that when he saw it climb out of the bag it had no eyes but in between blinks it appeared to suddenly be covered in eyes, all of them staring at the Admiral. The eyes a startling range of colours and species, though there was a distinct majority of pale blue eyes that were eerily reminiscent of Wool-And-Fog’s own. The intruder (the _prey_ ) made a decidedly panicked squeak before skittering across the floor towards a low-sitting couch. 

  
He heard a curse as he almost knocked the table over as he chased the creature around the small room. He could taste the creature’s fear, spurring him on further. He pounced and pinned the squirming thing under his paw, sharp claws piercing the flailing multitude of limbs. It screeched as the Admiral bared his teeth at it, moving to rip it apart.   
  
The Admiral gave a  plaintive meow as a hand reached down and pulled him up by the scruff.   
  
Warm-And-Quiet was laughing softly as he cradled the Admiral in his arms, giving him a little kiss to his belly. He sat back down at the table and held the Admiral firmly as Wool-And-Fog reached down to pick up the dangerous creature. The Admiral meowed and hissed in anger and fear. Did they not know that this creature was an intruder? The creature wrapped it’s tendrils around Wool-And-Fog’s hand, almost an imitation of how he had held Warm-And-Quiet’s hand earlier.   


The Admiral hissed at the creature as it was plopped down onto the table. It cowered closer to Wool-And-Fog. Warm-And-Quiet’s fingers scratched at the Admiral’s head.   
  
“Admiral, this is Tea. Tea is a friend. I know you can understand me Admiral. Please don’t hurt it He missed the times when Warm-And-Quiet couldn’t understand him. He listened as Warm-And-Quiet repeated similar sentiments to the unnatural creature that glared at him from across the table. 

Mine seemed nervous as Wool-And-Tea brought the creature closer. The Admiral sniffed at this creature that Warm-And-Quiet insisted was safe. It reached out with a sharp leg that rippled into a soft paw, tapping gently at the Admiral’s nose. 

The Admiral understood. 

He protected Mine and Blood-And-Metal-And-Anger. This creature protected and was protected by Warm-And-Quiet and Wool-And-Fog. They were the same. 

Anyway, Warm-And-Quiet was scary and that didn’t mean he was bad after all. 

The Admiral gave Tea a little lick, it squirmed but didn’t move away.   
  
The Admiral started purring. 


End file.
